


The Maker's Pranks

by Whuffie



Series: The Harried Herald and her Merry Misfits [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dramedy, F/M, NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 02:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3920248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whuffie/pseuds/Whuffie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A "slice of life" story told in first person by Inquisitor Trevelyan.  With a little group consisting of Blackwall, Iron Bull, Cassandra and a horse named Coffee (never leave home without Coffee), she plods out through the desert to study the High Dragon of Western Approach.  In spite of Bull’s bubbling enthusiasm, she tries to study it as Fredric asks.  That goes as well as stuffing a greased, hyperactive mabari into a girdle.  What could possibly be worse than an annoyed winged tower of might, muscle, and belching fire?  The harried Herald has faced lyrium abominations, renegade mages, corrupted templars, an Orlesian ball, and the Fade.  She’s sure she’s overcome the worst which can be thrown at her.  The Maker, it seems, was listening when she thought that. Includes interaction with her lover Cullen and best friend, Blackwall.  While the story itself is serious, you can also expect the occasional bad pun, silly alliteration, and twists of humor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Maker's Pranks

  
Art by the amazingly talented [SignCherie](http://signcherie.deviantart.com/)

* * *

He was getting that gleefully manic look again. Have you ever watched a Qunari - one with a rack of horns wider than your shoulders and a body the size of a watchtower - deflate? It’s almost as depressing as a wet kitten. Iron Bull slouched in his armor, then turned his only eye in my direction. I could tell he was trying to work his way up into a convincing argument, but we were supposed to study the dragon. I shook my head vigorously, scowling in his direction.

I put my back against a pillar of ancient stone which was baked hot by day’s heat, and shaded my eyes with an upraised arm. The glare of the sun coming off the vast waves of scalded sand made the sunburn on my cheeks sting. I was starting to wonder if I’d imagined a time when my eyes weren’t clogged with sand or bedroll wasn’t dusted with a fine layer of sharp grit. I’m quite sure I wasn’t born having to slather a soothing salve over red skin three times a day. I had a bouncy bed, a handful of huffing, clanking templars, and a routine before the Circles disbanded. It had been dull, but peaceful. I’d been comfortable there, but now? 

How did I get myself into these situations? 

I’d asked myself that several hundred times, but the answer was always the same: I reflexively picked up a glowing green ball because it rolled toward me. Something big, ugly, and scary threatening to hurt the Divine had wanted it. I didn’t have a grand, heroic plan to embrace destiny, and I’d intended to grab it and run as fast as I could. If I’d been thinking clearly, I’d have tried to help the Divine more than I did. Maker bless my stupid head, I hadn’t thought far enough ahead on where I’d run to or hide. For a mage, that was one of the worst devised plans in the history of Thedas. I should have known better than to tamper with unknown artifacts or allow them to come in contact with my skin. Unfortunately, there hadn’t been enough time to think, and I was in a state of panic. 

It must have seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I was leading the Inquisition. Follow the mage with the glowy hand. She closes rifts without the faintest idea how it works. One minute I’m just another mage wandering around in circles, and the next everyone decides I’m in charge. I can’t lead a horse to water in the middle of the desert. I almost proved that the hard way a few times, but Coffee is a good horse. He was able to find water for all of us.

“Boss,” Bull pleaded in a loud whisper as a foreboding shadow cruised over the bait, rippling across chunks of ancient ruins which jutted out of the sand. He fidgeted. Qunari, Iron Bull in particular, are not made to fidget. It was like putting a flower crown on a wyvern; neither worked.

Cassandra was pinching her lips together in a way that meant she was keeping herself from saying everything she was thinking. That couldn’t be good, and I glanced to the other member of our little band of happy dragon hunting lunatics. Blackwall, face tanned deeply by the elements where his beard didn’t cover, was more resolute than patient. “Why can’t we ever have a normal day?”

“You act like I never take any of you anywhere interesting.” I gave him a look which he blandly returned. Instead of answering me verbally, he stoically readied his shield and sword. Nobody understands my sense of humor except Varric, but they all tolerated me for mysterious reasons. Considering I was the all powerful Herald of Andraste and The Inquisitor, you’d think they’d have more faith in my plans. Unfortunately, Blackwall had been there when I found the memory crystals and knew how I’d actually ended up playing catch with the anchor. To his credit, he didn’t utter a word about it, and followed me as faithfully and solid as a rock. I didn’t know what I’d do without the three warriors who were always standing between me and things which wanted to dismember me while I threw spells. Probably get messily devoured by a dragon, but I didn’t really want to start wandering that mental path. Fortunately, Bull wasn’t going to let me brood on it.

“She’s going to take the bait!” His sweating hands gripped the hilt of the huge ax, making leather creak, and he gave it a reassuring heft.

I suppressed a sigh. He was usually quick to follow an order, but dragons lit his fire even faster than redheaded barmaids. Normal people ran away from the huge, winged, flame belching, masses of muscled murder. Bull, on the other hand, ran straight forward in a way that was almost indecent. “We’re supposed to observe, not kill her. Frederick wants us to watch her flight patterns and get a good look. She’s out in the middle of nowhere and isn’t threatening anyone.” This was our eighth extinct dragon, proving they weren’t nearly as complacent about being exterminated as people seemed to think they were. The others had been close to camps, towns, or had to be destroyed for safety sake. This one was preying on things nobody was likely to miss. If it wanted to pick its enormous fangs with quillback spines, why argue with it? The only people it was apt to run afoul were a handful of zealous hunters or addled researchers like Frederick. For something large enough to clutch a grown man in each foot and fly off with them, this specimen was as harmless as it could be. 

“If it eats the researcher,” Bull bubbled eagerly, “then can we kill it?”

Cassandra’s eyes were squinting dangerously on the corners and I tried to intervene before the dragon landed and slurped down the messy shreds of what used to be a self made Inquisitor and her allies. “All right,” I agreed in exasperation, “if anything happens to the researcher, we’ll kill the dragon.” Maker’s sake, I wondered if all Qunari were like this around dragons, or if it was just him? 

Personally, I was ready to pack us all up and go back to Skyhold to check on things there almost as soon as I caught sight of my first witherstalk. The elements were harsh enough that Leliana’s birds had trouble getting through, almost cutting communication off completely. I needed to speak to everyone, learn where things stood, and what news we had of Corypheus. If it wasn’t for the nagging mystery of what the resident aspiring god wanted with a lowly Orlesian researcher and a dragon, we would have gone several days ago. Whatever nefarious plots were broiling in his beady brain, they involved dragons. It might be best if we killed this one, but I was tired of the desperate battles with them. We’d almost lost Sera once, Blackwall had gotten hit so badly with lightning that Solas somehow restart his heart with magic, and Cassandra had been badly burned during other battles. Thus far, Solas and I had been the lucky ones. Standing outside the worst of the tumult and throwing spells had kept us mostly out of range. I’d gotten bitten by a dragonling, but armor had kept it from gouging out any flesh. My arm was broken from the hatchling’s jaw pressure, but poultice and potions had it healed in a few weeks. Our good fortune wouldn’t last forever, and we still had the tainted “archdemon” and Corypheus to think about. Eventually it was going to come to that, because he wasn’t going to quietly lay down and wheeze out his last puff of dreadful darkspawn breath for our sake. Everything would have been so much easier if he would have.

“She’s circling,” Cassandra informed all of us urgently, “and she’s a large one.”

“Not a word,” I warned Bull and moved my hand to give my eyes better shade. They were watering so much that it was difficult to see anything but the monstrous shadow blotted against the sun. Broad wings caught the air almost as delicately as sails, and her tail pointed out straight behind her. I could almost see what Frederick found so fascinating about them. Did dragons have some kind of innate magic like mages that let them spit fire, lightning, ice or other elements? Did it work some other way? Why did they hold their tails up the way they did? Were they like birds and needed them? Without feathers to fan out, it didn’t seem like they would work the same. If I lived another few years to reach the hearty old age of thirty five, I might spend a lazy evening reading books on them to find those answers. That was assuming I wasn’t gobbled down the gullet of the big female who had extended her hind limbs.

She came down with her back toes first, buffeting a miniature sandstorm which blasted tiny abrasions into my cheeks and brow. The front legs gracefully followed until she was down on all fours, folding her wings close to her ribs with a massive, leathery popping noise. Stretching her nose so her body was full length, she shook herself, reminding me strongly of a dog, and shed a fine sheen of dust from her glittering golden scales. A serpentine, notched tongue the length of my body flicked out as she explored the bait we had so painstakingly laid out. It must have met to her satisfaction because she dipped her snout and scooped up the weight of an entire horse.

Tossing her head back, I got a disturbingly good view of fangs as long as Bull’s horns. Her slitted, reptilian eyes closed with seeming pleasure as the gobbets of meat began to slide down her throat. I could see the muscles in her neck working and was treated to an involuntary mental image of one of my friends sliding down in similar chunks. I changed my mind. What possessed people to want to study something like this, and what was Corypheus doing that involved one? If he needed any of the body parts he would have already killed it, so he wanted her alive for something. 

The dragon turned for the next streaming, repugnant pile of bait. I suppose when you’re as big as a dragon, you don’t worry very much about your surroundings. Pillars of stone were like towers of pebbles, and saplings as impressive as tall grass. She spun around abruptly, and her tail slapped across the top of one of the ruined rock slabs.

I couldn’t blame anyone but myself and the Maker’s quirky love of mischief for what happened. A bird frantically took wing as its nest was dumped over, and fragments of rock as large as skulls were jostled free by the dragon’s nonchalant motion. They began coming down toward Blackwall, where he was sheltering out of sight. “Blackwall!” I shouted, “look out!” He probably would have reacted on his own, but it was instinctive. My tactical battle training wasn’t anywhere close to what the others gained through years of experience. 

The dragon oriented on me, and her slitted, black pupil dilated, expanding until I was afraid I’d fall in. “Uh oh,” I squeaked inanely and began to pull the energies of the fade to my command. I threw fire into its eyes, hoping to blind it, and I ran. All the good stories talk about brave stands in the face of death and dismemberment. Those wild embellishments might sound good when being plucked on a lute, but they were madness. When something was about to eat you, a primal fear pumped into your legs into action. Unless you were very brave or very stupid, you ran like any scared nug. 

Being a creature of the desert, all I managed to do was irritate her with flames. She shook her massive, wedge shaped head and pawed at her face with a foreleg, snorting wisps of grey smoke from her nostrils. It was only logical she would be a fire breather, but obviously thinking things through in the middle of battle wasn’t my strong suit. I was more the “stay alive by whatever means necessary” sort. To that end, I managed to dive into the shelter of a huge bolder as flames spewed around me in blistering waves. My skin stung immediately, adding to my sunburn, and I swore creatively under my breath.

Bull’s war cry exploded with Cassandra’s ringing taunts. Blackwall? I waited for the dragon to expend her fire long enough to take another breath and risked peeking around my cover. The motion of a fennec streaking away, ears flat and tail bushy, caught my eye. I shook off the distraction, and to my relief, saw Blackwall back on his feet. He began a series of moves, circling the dragon for a chance to get his sword past the tough scales. 

We were rats underfoot as far as the queen of the Wastelands was concerned, and all we had in our favor were numbers, magic, and experience. She couldn’t orient on all four of us at once, and after I’d unscrambled my common sense, I began to hammer her with ice spells. Whatever fueled a dragon, they seemed to follow the same laws of magic as everything else. Fire was annulled by ice, and slowed her down, digging into flesh to do as much damage as blades. Just like the other high dragons we’d killed, it became a dance of death by bee stings. Eventually, one of the warriors would get a clean chance at the big tendons in the back of the legs, puncture a lung, or slash into the vital river of blood going along the throat. Natural scale armor had to be hacked through before then, and a dragon was canny enough to protect itself. I wondered why they didn’t take wing and fly. The only conclusion I had was that they were territorial or in some cases, protecting their offspring. Their offspring didn’t need it. I could personally vouch for that.

My flesh felt baked and tough as week old bread as I tapped into the fade, shaping the energies into waves which transported me in a blur away from a gout of oncoming flame. I halted in the shadow of the dwindling stone pillars which hadn’t been toppled in the rampage. Pressing my back against it, I involuntarily squeezed my eyes to a squint as the dragon bellowed a challenge in my direction, furious that she’d missed. I had to resist the urge to slap my hands over ringing ears. She was obviously very, very angry at us, and making her displeasure known to all the world. That wasn’t something rational people ever wanted to do to a dragon, but we had. Of course. It was a talent of ours.

A light shower of rock dust pelted down, coating my hair and pauldrons. Something tickled on my neck and I didn’t have any attention to spare for it until a sharp pain jabbed into the soft area above my protective gorget. I clamped my teeth down on a squall of pain and automatically slapped the space with the hand not clutching my staff. A smaller, lesser pain tweaked my palm, and I saw some kind of insect hit the ground. It wasn’t very big. Except for the tips of red which dotted a long, curled tail and matching markings on the end of vicious little pinchers, it didn’t look like much. Ow. For something so small it was obnoxious, it hurt, but I had a dragon’s hind foot lashing out in my direction. Hurriedly throwing a spell at it’s back, I lunged the opposite direction to keep from being pounded into paste under her claws. 

Powerful haunches gathered under thick, dark, reptilian blood. It rained hot across my face as she favored one leg, flapped mighty wings, and Cassandra went tumbling helplessly over onto her back. I threw a magical barrier around her for protection, and the dragon tried to launch briefly out of reach. One of the others must have gotten a good strike at her tendons, because a weak rear leg crumpled. The Wasteland queen stumbled, still flapping wildly, and Bull took a powerful double handed swing at the vulnerable point behind her horn. “Come on, Bull,” I muttered, and tossed out more cold, unleashing a blizzard of unnatural flurries. They struck against the rising heat of the desert, making the onslaught a slightly less effective slurry instead of freezing my target immobile. Wincing, I saw Cassandra’s was on her feet again with blue lips. She licked them reflexively, and charged. 

The fire must have gotten too close, because I felt flush with the minor burns. They could be tended later. My neck also throbbed where the insect had bitten, but I barely noticed it in the midst of a panic to survive. My mana was running dangerously low, and held some in reserve in case I had to fade step or use another barrier. I let the staff carry as much as I could, using low grade and minor spells spat from the end of it, digging past hearty scales and into the slowing muscles. The desert queen still had fight in her as Bull struck with formidable strength, burying his ax blade deep into tissue. With a roar, the dragon tried to twist away from him, but like his namesake, the Qunari wasn’t easily thwarted. Digging his heels in, I saw his face contorted in gleeful concentration as Cassandra circled. Shield up and blade forward, she rushed one side as Blackwall helped distract the final, dwindling gust of flames with his own shield. As he crouched, bathed in an orange blast, Cassandra shoved her sword to the hilt behind the dragon’s skull and into the brain. It convulsed several times, making Bull finally lose the grip on his battle ax, then the monarch of the wastelands died with a few last breaths. 

“Is everyone alright?” I leaned on my staff for balance as I watched the dragon go completely still.

Cassandra took silent inventory of injuries and winced. “Only bruises, I think, and a few burns.”

Bull was too caught up in the euphoria of the kill, but seemed well. “Blackwall?”

“Nothing a night’s rest won’t fix.” He dropped his smoking shield before it burned away leather gloves and eyed the corpse for the best and most easily transported parts which our smith could make use of back at Skyhold. Once he’d wiped the sweat from his brow, he knelt to begin skinning off some scales. Glancing in my direction, he gave me a longer look than usual. “What about you? Are you injured?”

“No.” My knees said otherwise and chose that moment to buckle. “It didn’t hit me,” I protested stupidly and put my palm over my neck. It was disconcertingly numb, and I couldn’t feel my own hand against the skin. “I think maybe something bit me during the fight.”

Blackwall and Cassandra were both next to me and I couldn’t remember how they’d gotten there. One second I was blinking, and the next they were both supporting an arm. “What was it?” Blackwall demanded. “What did the insect look like?”

“Um,” I tried to formulate. I hadn’t really been paying attention. “There was a dragon!” I protested aloud, “I don’t know. It was brown, sort of the color of the ground. It had a lot of legs.”

“Like a snake?” Blackwall demanded urgently, “with dozens of legs?” 

“No.” I felt slow and hot as he tilted my head to one side and brushed away my hair away to look at the sting. “It was more ... I don’t know... it had a tail and little ... crab claws.”

It wasn’t unusual for Blackwall to look serious, but I couldn’t remember him seeming really alarmed about anything before. He was worried about something. Me? He shouldn’t have to worry about me. There was already too much for anyone... My thoughts drifted into a haze until he brought me back with questions. “Did it have red on it, or was it all brown?”

“Red,” I said after too many seconds. Darkness was dancing around my vision and meaty grey hands were trying to force me to drink a healing elixir. 

“We need witherstalk, elfroot plant and spindleweed leaves,” Blackwall rapped, “now! She’s been poisoned! We could lose her!”

“I’ll be fi...” Cassandra’s pale face was the last thing I remember as she caught me. 

\--------

Why was I always waking up somewhere strange feeling like my skull cracked open? I couldn’t even blame it on drinking. I’d been with Bull one of the few times I’d guzzled that swill which tasted the way I imagined the flavor of dragon stomach acid. It was also the last time I got deep in my cups. I’d snapped out of it drooling stupidly on a scarred grey shoulder and a laughing Qunari. It wasn’t my most dignified moment.

Making some unintelligible sound, I tried to pry my gummy eyelids open and take stock of my surroundings. The last thing I remembered was something about poison, Cassandra, and we’d been out on the wastelands. “Mnunblugck.” I have no idea what that meant, but there was a hand on my forehead. I decided I needed to protest.

Call me paranoid, but I hadn’t survived as long as I had by sitting idly in one place and waiting for death to pounce on me. I tried to roll over, move, or shove whoever was touching me off before someone tried to kill me. 

“Thank the Maker. You’re awake!” 

The hand moved, and I relaxed immediately. I knew the voice, and reached out for the arm again, groping blindly while I tried to convince my eyes to pry open. “Kunkn?” Thick, heavily calloused fingers tentatively wrapped around mine, almost like he expected me to send him away. 

“Don’t move,” he told me firmly in a voice he normally reserved for soldiers under his command. I wasn’t sure I liked it or resented it right then, but decided not to fight him. “I’ll get the healer.”

I held on a little tighter, refusing to let go, and he stopped trying to pull away. “Cull..nn.” I finally managed. My throat was on fire and I finally cracked my eyes open. “Wher’m I?” 

“You’re back at Skyhold, in your quarters.” He came into focus as a gold and brown blur, sitting at my bedside. His hair looked perfect, as usual. I probably looked like death; as usual. I’d never seen another person who could pop a lion helmet off his head and still look tastefully mussed. I yanked a helmet off and had a lightning struck, frazzled, wheat blond broom. The world isn’t a fair place. “You shouldn’t try to talk,” Mr. Perfection informed me. “Not yet.”

I ignored that, which he should have been prepared for. “How’d ... when’d...” I began to cough and he wrenched his hand out of my grasp to call for Ellandra. I heard her come lightly up the steps, but it sounded strange, like listening through layers of cotton. She was tipping something cold and tingly to my lips from a bowl and Cullen propped my neck up to help it trickle down my throat. I swallowed reflexively, trying not to gag on the bitterness. “Stay,” I croaked, reaching for my Commander, soldier, and lover. The giant pounding a stake into my skull resumed as I think he promised, and everything turned black again.

When I came around the next time, the ache in my throat had faded to inconvenient, itching pinpricks. I rolled my head on the pillow and found Cullen hunched over a report, scowl pulling at the corners of his mouth. “How long has it been?” My voice was reedy and coarse at intervals, making me grimace. His face snapped in my direction, and he put aside his work on my desk. I squeezed my eyes shut and squinted them back open. “Did you take over my desk, or am I still dreaming?”

“You’re awake again.” His tone was soft enough that he might have thought I was still asleep or delirious.

“How long?” I repeated, and hoisted myself up to my elbows. The room took a few nauseating spins, but it stopped once I took some deep breaths. 

“Cassandra got you here four days ago.” He eased down on the edge of the bed, and it groaned with the weight of his body and armor. “How are you? I can call the healer back.”

“No.” I swallowed thickly and reached for a glass of water at my bedside. He helped me steady it as I drank, and I cleared my throat. “I’m better.” I’d stopped sounding like a frog who had gargled lemon juice. “Give me a few minutes.” Four days? That didn’t include the time it took to get me back to Skyhold. Even pushing Coffee and the horses as quickly as the others could, the journey wasn’t a quick one. I felt impressions of the journey more than remembered them, so I wasn’t sure how much of it was real. Some of them had to be poison induced hallucinations. I decided to hone in on something simple and likely to be reality. “You did borrow my desk,” I accused. I wasn’t actually angry, because I never had time to use it, anyway. 

I was in the field more than I was ever home, and looked forward to the day my life – our life – would be quiet. Would Cullen ever be satisfied with that? Bull was right when he first talked about the Qun and how my human companions would have fit into the structure. Cullen was a soldier from head to soles, but as long as there was an army they’d need someone to command them. Even if we didn’t all get killed trying to stop Corypheus or sucked up into the sky to eternal doom, the Inquisition would need leaders. Everyone follow the mage with the glowing green mark and her band. The Maker had a sense of humor, and nobody was ever going to convince me differently. If they ever put me in the Chant of Light I hope my stanza called us the harried Herald and her Maker marked merry misfits, but I doubt anyone would. Maybe I should ask Varric. If he wrote a book about me it would probably be more popular than anything the Chantry did, anyway.

I must have looked amused because Cullen got the expression on his face he gets when he’s worried I finally buckled under stress. It’s this little set of furrows right between his eyebrows and a flood of worry in warm brown eyes. “I’m fine,” I promised. It didn’t help. The last time I saw that look on him was when I had been strongly considering wrestling Empress Celene to the ground and tipping her, ankles over tea kettle, across a balcony railing to save her precious life. I was fairly confident Bull would have caught her down on the first floor, and we could run out of the ball while everyone was immobilized by shock from the sheer scandal. The way it went was even messier than my half baked, mad plan, but we all lived through it. At the end of the day, that’s all I cared about any more. Stop Corypheus and keep us in one piece long enough to enjoy a few years of quiet. 

I had to repeat myself before my Commander cautiously believed me. “I’m going to be all right.” 

His hand moved, and I met it, palm to palm, halfway putting my fingers through his. Cullen, for all his heroics and bravery, occasionally seemed to think I was going to jump out of the window and escape. There had been that one time that I got carried away running around on the garden roof, but I was careful. I noticed an arrow embedded in the shingles and it made me curious. What else was I to do? I had no idea half the people in Skyhold would notice and leap at it as the juiciest piece of gossip that week. They were torn over the idea I was somehow communing with Andraste by being closer to her ariel throne, trying to meditate on how to close the rifts, or if I was going to dramatically throw myself to my death. Farewell cruel world. With my luck, I would have landed in a well and Dorian would have laughed the entire time they fished me out with a bucket. It was just an arrow. I certainly wasn’t going to fling myself from the awnings and abandon life or Cullen. 

Ready for a change of subject, I held up my hand speculatively and wiggled my fingers, staring at the anchor. “Do you suppose this is going to go away someday if we completely close the rifts?” I couldn’t say it didn’t have its uses, but I walk in the Fade through my dreams often enough. Considering what had happened with the Grey Warden and my hard won memories, I wasn’t eager to physically take a stroll through the world of spirits again any time soon. Spiders the size of Redcliffe with more eyes than indistinguishability weren’t my idea of a party. 

“I don’t know. None of us really understand what we’re dealing with when it comes to your mark. The people believe it was Andraste who put it there, and it’s what they need to think.” He leaned over to kiss me, all gently scratchy stubble, smell of armor polish, leather, and pleasantly chapped lips. My heart did the funny little tattoo it always does for him. I would have liked to get back into my routine with some immediate “exercise,” but he broke the kiss before it gained any kind of heat. Covering my hand with both of his, he asked, “Does your mark still hurt?”

“A little.” I had to think about it, because it had become so much a part of me. My body and brain ignored it as often as paid attention because it was always there. Like an old scar that gave a soldier trouble, you stopped noticing after a while. “Not very often any more. What about you?” I’d been worried about him getting away from the lyrium. “How are your headaches?” 

The bed creaked ominously as he shifted his weight. “They’re less frequent now.” He wasn’t as curt and final as he was with Cassandra or Leliana on that topic. He’d given some concession when I told him I wanted to worry about him, at least a little. “This isn’t the first time I’ve suffered lyrium withdrawal, but it is different. I chose this, and don’t want to be tied to that order any longer.” 

I cautiously sat up, and snuggled against him when he obliged by lifting his arm to give me room at his side. “You never mentioned trying to get off lyrium before.” I was careful to let only curiosity through in my voice. 

“You’re the only one I ever told about what happened to me in Ferelden. I was denied food, water, and lyrium by the blood mages there.” He didn’t elaborate and I didn’t push him for details. I’d heard enough to know it had left scars in his mind and prompted some of the things he did in Kirkwall. If he wanted to tell me the rest someday I’d listen, but I also gave him his privacy if he wanted it. 

“I’m glad the dreams are better. We’ll get through this together, whatever is thrown at us.” I reached to stroke his face and my gut gurgled. Leave it to my stomach to ruin a mood, and I smirked. Obviously I was hungry, but it could wait a few more minutes. “You did move into my desk.” I gently poked him in the side, but all I hit was armor warmed by his body. 

“I was,” he dropped his eyes and his voice turned softer the way I knew he was thinking of me as more than the leader of the Inquisition, “I was worried about you. I had them bring reports to me here so I could stay at your side.”

I giggled, unable to help myself. Rolling my upper lip between my teeth to make it stop, I hit him lightly across the side of the face with a pillow. He blinked at me, and someday I was determined to goad him into hitting me back in a proper pillow fight. So far, all I’d been able to talk him into had been a dance at a catastrophic ball. “What’s mine is yours. You know that. You can use my desk or anything else in my quarters any time you want to.” I’d never admitted it out loud, but I liked his little loft over his office more than my own spacious, decorated living space. Once the roof was fixed and the tree branches evicted, the small place he carved out of Skyhold for himself was cozy. It felt more like home. 

“You keep saying that.” His tone hadn’t changed and his gaze drifted out to stare at nothing. 

“What?” My hands were steady as I finished the water, and slowly sat all the way up. The walls stayed where they belonged and weren’t twirling like a child’s top. That had to be good. 

“You say things like ‘we’ as if you...” he trailed off. 

“As if I love you?” Poking him wasn’t doing any good, so I went for the pillow again. The reflexive block of his vambrace might have been almost frightening had it been anyone but Cullen. Most people don’t think he has a sense of humor, but I caught the smallest bit of a smirk on the corner of his mouth. While he might lose graciously at games, he had a healthy competitive streak. The block had been his way of telling me he’d seen it coming. “I meant what I told you that the first time we were together. You have to remember what we said after the splinters and the wobbly leg on the desk.” Had I known Sera’s pranks were going to come back and haunt me like that, I’d have been more careful.

“You got splinters?” Alarmed, he looked at the place brought into question, then quickly turned his attention back to my face.

Laughing softly, I put my arms around his neck, nearly drowning in the mantle of fur. My stately, handsome, compassionate, stubborn, occasionally arrogant, sometime unsure, adorable Lionmuffin. For the record, I don’t call him that out loud. He’d probably go into contortions if I ever did. Admittedly that might be amusing for a few minutes, but I drew a line at tormenting his pride. Never, ever, toy with a lion’s pride if you know what’s good for you. “No,” I reassured him as he put his arms around my waist. “I didn’t actually get splinters. Everything was perfect, and if we could do it all over again, I wouldn’t change anything.” I rested my chin on his shoulder, and was promptly swallowed by decorative hair. “I love you.” It felt good repeating it once in awhile, and I would have shouted it from the rooftops if it wouldn’t have made me the next target of Varric’s Sword and Shields saga. 

“I love you, too.” There was always the same sense of wonder in his voice that was in mine, and we enjoyed the moment for awhile. 

“I’m starving,” I finally complained from the ocean of overgrown brown fur. Sometime I wondered if that was how it felt to hug a werewolf. Not that I ever wanted to try. “It looks like it’s going dark out, so it must be mealtime.” I came up for air, nuzzling in the crook of his neck. “Cullen.” The Inquisitor’s work was never done, and we both had responsibilities. I might make light of many things, but there were a lot of lives dependant on both of us. “I need to get back into the field again as soon as I can. Send the surgeon or whoever else has been helping me get over the poison, but after that, I need a decent wash and change of clothes. Could you help catch me up over dinner? I should speak to Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine as well. They will have to have to wait until the morning, but they should be told I’m better.” I’d found my limits before and pushed past them because I had no choice. Doing so too often was dangerous and wouldn’t do myself or anyone else any good. Early mage education taught us how to utilize our inner reserves, doling them out carefully and strategically through spells. Pulling too much out of ourselves lead to exhaustion or death. Having Cullen report anything he thought was important would be enough until the sun came back up. I wasn’t ready for lengthy explanations from Josephine, in particular. How she managed to keep all the nobles and their agendas separated from each other in her head was a complete mystery to me.

Cullen skeptically looked as if he wanted to argue, but he knew better. Both leader and follower, everyone came to an understanding when I nearly fell off over with that huge sword hoisted up in the air to proclaim my leadership of the Inquisition. I was the leader, and Bull was right. Any of my advisors could have done as well as I have. Most of them probably would have been better at it, but they needed someone who would make the hard decisions. I didn’t like it, but I already mentioned how the Maker had a sense of humor. Look at how the mighty Herald of Andraste was almost killed by pest small enough to be crushed under a boot heel. 

“I’m fine,” I promised gently. “I also know you have work to do and can’t spend all day fussing over me.” He hardly rested on normal days, and the four who made up my critical council, Cullen slept even less than I did. “Just bring me something to eat once you’re finished with your normal tasks. After some more rest tonight, I’ll be ready to leave again.” I could take another day to make sure I was fit enough survive the next ordeal. An Inquisitor pasted to the bottom of an irate Bronto’s feet wasn’t going to help anyone. If only Blackwall would have remembered that before he accidentally poked the one which had been passively grazing next to me the entire time I was hurling spells at giants. One minute I was about to rejoice at dead giants. The next minute I had twenty five brontos all charging at us. Actually it was closer to a half dozen, but it looked like thirty eight at the time. The number also gets bigger every time I bring it up. I’m not stopping until it’s two hundred brontos and Varric believes my story.

Once Cullen was convinced to depart, I spoke to Ellandra, two other mages, and our chief surgeon who kept rattling about humors. I insisted my sense of humor was fine, she wasn’t amused, and it got worse from there. By the time they released me, I sank into a lukewarm bath, and felt like the tip of an over sharpened quill. A sound scrub revived me some, but not nearly as much as it should have. On a regular night, it would have boosted my energy long enough to give me a few extra hours of work or relaxation. The thrice cursed bug had sapped too much out of me, and I was exhausted by the time I dried myself off. 

Hopefully a peaceful night’s sleep would restore me at least well enough to get back on the road with the others if Coffee went gently. Corypheus was up to something, and for every victory we gained, he and his bad boney girdle were still a step ahead of us. I couldn’t afford to linger at Skyhold any longer. 

Cullen and I had a distinct disadvantage to the people whose biggest decision was were how much bread and eggplant to get for the week. He was nearly as much a leader as I was, and the soldiers wouldn’t function without training, loyalty, sweat, blood and inspiration drawn from him. He might not believe me if I told him, but he was just as indispensable to the Inquisition as Leliana, Josephine, Cassandra and I. The hardest decisions might be mine, but I’d have been dead in Haven without Cullen. He was the one who had the head for strategy, even in the most desperate hour. Panic and rage were my entire world that last day at Haven, but he’d been steady under pressure. Even when he thought everything was lost, he was ready to show us all how to die well. More importantly, he was the one who inspired me to understand what it meant to lay down my life other people. We could both hope that I would find another way out of the disaster, but I saw terrible truth in his eyes. He was ready to sell his life for as many of our enemies as he could take with him. In that moment, he helped me open up the courage inside of myself to do what was necessary for the lives of others. 

The credit for victory had mainly gone to me in the weeks that followed when we found Skyhold. I knew better. Solas scoured Fade dreams to find the old fortress, and Roderick had known the route out of doomed Haven. Cassandra and Leliana were the heart and soul of the Inquisition. Blackwall and Iron Bull were the people who got bruised and bloodied by standing between me and the hostile world. I was such a fraud most of the time, but I already mentioned the Maker and his odd sense of humor. Tossing two people into the middle of a war who fall in love was another was just another of his pranks. Leliana or Cassandra would have called it a blessing, but I’m more inclined to think it’s amusement value for the Maker. 

I hung up my drying cloth near the balcony window, and rubbed my arms against the chill. My one great indulgence was the undershirt I’d filched from Cullen’s clothes chest. I occasionally swapped it for another when he was out of his office because the one I had stopped smelling like him. I’m not sure if he’d noticed yet or not. I thought he might have, but hadn’t brought it up. If he did, I planned on either playing innocent or denying everything. Neither of which was going to work because I think his sister might have become a rogue or a mother. I’m not sure how much difference there was between the two when I saw families chasing after each other in Skyhold. Whichever it was, someone in his life had been extremely sneaky and I didn’t get away with very much around him. 

We were both busy people. Poets and minstrels might sing about love conquering all barriers, but they didn’t have a tall, boney arsed, red lyrium adorned darkspawn with delusions of godhood catapulted into their laps. Leliana claimed shoes said much about a person. I didn’t notice Corypheus’ fancy footwear, but slabs of glowing rocks jutting from his bones had to be some sort of tell. Normal people only had to worry about their mother-in-law disapproving down their nose or how many children they were going to raise. I had a dragon and a possibly indestructible monster with an ego the size of Orlais. On my less sane nights I thought about giving up so Corypheus had to govern the world and I could run away with Cullen. That would teach Corypheus. Unfortunately, he was likely to wipe out every living thing from worms to sparrows to irritable Inquisitors if I did that. It was a bad idea. Even I wasn’t that dense, but if I could laugh at something it seemed less frightening. 

Putting my arms through the long sleeves, I laced the shirt shut, and the tail floated down to my thighs. It swallowed me, of course, but if I couldn’t have him it was the only substitute available to wrap around me when it wasn’t his arms. Even hassled Heralds had a right to a few little comforts, didn’t they? Wait. My word was law. If I wasn’t lopping off heads or ducking flying rams thrown at my walls by crazy Avvar, I was putting people in prison. I lead such a glamorous life, but if I’m the law then I say haggard heralds can have comforts. I’m glad that’s settled. When did I start having these conversations with myself in my own head? I stopped wondering. It was safer that way.

Disconcertingly weary, I folded the freshly changed bedding down and climbed under the blanket. Cullen could be minutes or over an hour, so I wanted to rest while I could. Drifting wasn’t difficult, and I slept until the smell of food came upstairs.

It was a sad indication of my life when my hand automatically reached for my staff before I realized what I was doing. Clutching a handful of coverlet instead, I shook off the woozy disorientation of deep sleep. My looming Lionmuffin was toting a tray up for the two of us, and pulled a chair to my bedside as a makeshift table. He spared the bed and added a chair for himself, giving me a bowl once I’d sat up.

“Soup?” I wrinkled my nose at the weak stuff, but it smelled better than anything I could remember. “Why can’t I have – what is that, roast ram? – like you’ve got?” I tried not to whine. Leaders of vast numbers and hopeful destroyers of dastardly darkspawn weren’t supposed to whine. It was probably in a tome of instructions somewhere in those bookshelves where Dorian liked to lurk. 

“The surgeon says you shouldn’t eat too much heavy food too soon.” He was implacably patient and gave me a spoon. 

“I could order you to hand over some of those potatoes,” I grumbled, and started tipping broth into my hungry maw. 

“I fear I would have to ignore that order, Inquisitor,” he countered crisply with a completely straight face. “For your own safety.” 

Varric and Sera were wrong. Cullen had a sense of humor, but you had to really know what to look for. “I’d hit you with a pillow again and seize them if I wasn’t so starved.” Cutting his eyes my direction, he smirked pleasantly in what I recognized as that little “I dare you” look he had sometime. I was tempted to do it just out of spite, but that would have meant leaving the food I had in front of me. I devoured the soup as if it was ambrosia from the Maker. Licking my lips, I stared into the spoon, and realized something random. “I can cook, you know.”

Pausing with a bite of meat halfway to his mouth, he raised his eyebrows at the abrupt change of topic. “That’s good to know, I suppose, but why tell me?”

“It just occurred to me that you hadn’t any idea. We’re always so busy and there’s a kitchen in Skyhold to take care of all that. We don’t get to do much of the normal things for two people in love like take walks, subject you to burned lumps of unidentified something that proves how much you love me by eating it anyway, or introductions to families.” If mine didn’t approve I’d threaten to turn them into dancing ferrets, but the idea of meeting his sister made me nervous. I could spout sarcastic retorts in the face of Corypheus and his dragon without a thought. Mia? What would she think of her brother’s interest in a mage? He was a former templar, but I couldn’t set my mantle aside as easily. Once a mage is always one, and according to Cassandra, that included Tranquil. We were what we were, and the rebellion stirred up a lot of bad feelings. I was also the leader of a rebel army against the Chantry. The family seemed to be on Cullen’s side and therefore mine by default, but what about when the war was over? Where would we end up? “Except for a little bit of time we manage to steal here or there, it’s always busy. At least we got our dance.” Even if it was in the middle of the usual chaos and imminent political upheaval. 

“If you want to call that dancing,” he chuckled and speared a potato with his fork. His smile briefly emerged. They weren’t as rare in private as when we were around other people, but seldom enough seen. It made him even more handsome, and I couldn’t keep from melting into a return expression. 

I must have looked ridiculous, but his affection was part of what kept me grounded through the war. I needed someone to come home to who loved me as more than a distant symbol. “It was wonderful. I’d do the whole foiled assassination all over again just for that.” I finished my soup and it sat pleasantly in my stomach while I waited for him to finish. We hadn’t been together for awhile, so we covered all the important things of Skyhold which he knew would need my attention before I left. I relied on notes for some of it, which he obligingly took down for me. I accused him of coddling me and attacked him with another well aimed pillow. That earned me another block, smirk, and some distracted kissing before we got back to work. Cullen had gotten used to making a few concessions for my erratic way of dealing with the world, and I loved him all the more for it.

I asked about his family, the routines of Skyhold, the soldiers, if he’d beat Dorian at any games lately, and all the small things we used to pass time in conversation. I was glad to have something almost normal and stable for a few hours. “Would you come back up once you take those to the kitchen?” I asked as he cleared our dishes.

“Of course.” He paused before putting his feet on the stairs, “is everything alright? Your color is good, and you sound like yourself.” 

“I’m better. I just hoped you’d stay the night so I didn’t have to sleep alone. I miss you.” With the speculative frown he was giving me, I promised, “just to sleep. I don’t have the energy for anything else tonight.”

Softening, he nodded. “I’ll be back shortly. Give me a few moments and I’m yours.”

“I hope so. Anyone else tries to take you and I’m going to design a glyph to stick them permanently to a rafter and call them a decoration.” I think he ignored that, but I’d already rolled over and pulled the blanket up to my ear, so I didn’t see. 

It was a little longer than a few moments, but he was as true to his word as he always was. “Off with the armor,” I told him sleepily once he’d returned. Extracting myself from my warm spot, I moved to my side of the bed. “The frame couldn’t handle it for more than a few minutes, and I know it comes off.” I couldn’t help teasing him into the hint of a blush which pinked the crest of his cheeks. Josephine had stripped him of more than his ego at cards one night, and Varric wasn’t going to let Cullen forget it any time this season. Cullen’s competitive nature didn’t manage to carry the night, but I considered myself a winner. My coin purse might have been empty, but watching Cullen run for the door in nothing but his small clothes had been enough to keep my fantasies warm for the next six weeks while I cut a swathe through more fade rifts.

Folding his arms across his chest, he looked down at me. “I’m not sure if I should ask for a rematch or not. She didn’t even cheat.” Leliana and Dorian were notorious at it during board games. Cullen had a knack for catching them at it, but I had to agree that Josephine didn’t seem the type to swindle her friends. Evidently she didn’t need to.

“If you do, I’m going to be there,” I mock threatened through a wicked grin. 

Unbuckling his armor wasn’t a fast process, but he shed layers until he was ready for bed. Unlike me, he tended to get too warm at night, and slept in a pair of thin pants. Unless, of course, he was in nothing at all. That was my personal preference, and a few times I demonstrated exactly why. I didn’t hide my sleepy admiration as the candles flickered and threw shadows slipping along the cuts and curves of muscle in his chest. I hid a longing sigh with a wrenching yawn as he lifted the coverlet to climb in bed next to me. I immediately snuggled my back against him so I’d fall in the protective circle of his embrace. 

There was a short pause before I heard him whisper, “that’s my shirt.”

Smiling, I laced my fingers through his and kissed the outside of his thumb. “Not any more.”

He sighed resignation into my hair and held me a little closer to his chest, letting me have the argument. I always felt safe with him in that position, arms wound across me. I knew it was an illusion, but it didn’t matter. His strong, warm body relaxed behind me gave me a sense of security, and I knew I’d sleep better for it. 

When my eyes snapped open again, the candles had burned themselves out and the fire was reduced to coals in the hearth. My hand clutched the comforting wood of my stave before my mind tumbled completely awake, and my stomach gurgled hungrily. The soup hadn’t stayed with me particularly well.

“No... don’t... no... not... Please not... leave them. Leave me...”

The bedding was knotted from Cullen thrashing in his nightmares, and the sheet tangled around his legs. I recognized the agony in his face and the telling sweat across his face. It always broke my heart, knowing that to become the man he was had meant a forge of unthinkable torture. “Cullen,” I called gently, and put a little distance between us before shaking him lightly by the shoulder. “Cullen, wake up. It’s nightmares, my heart.” He’d never been violent on waking, but considering what was tormenting him, I didn’t take a chance. A stray elbow lashing out would bash my nose as surely by accident as it would have deliberately. “Come back to me,” I urged as I shook a little harder.

The trap finally released his mind and his eyes wildly rolled around the room, finally orienting on me. “I woke you again.” He reached up to cup my cheek as I moved closer to him. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Turning my face, I kissed his palm and stroked my fingers through his damp hair. It still looked perfect. If it wasn’t Cullen I would have sworn blood magic was at work. “I feel fine.” I leaned down to brush my lips affectionately across his then told him, “turn over.”

Pushing himself up to one elbow and straightening the bedding, I could barely make out his quizzical expression between the patches of orange light and shadow from the fireplace. He trusted me, so didn’t ask why. As he flipped over onto his stomach, I finished untangling our blankets. “You work just as hard as I do,” I whispered as I placed a chaste kiss on his shoulder. “I want you to relax if you can.” I’m sure he was wondering what was going on in my devious little mind, but that wasn’t anything unusual. Instead of leaving him in suspense, I put my hands on the small of his back and began to knead his muscles. Tension nearly rolled off of him in waves, and I could feel knots bunched up under his skin. “Just go back to sleep,” I encouraged softly and began to caress out the worst of the tension around his spine. 

“That’s,” he said in a muffle against the pillow, “that’s really nice.” We both liked attention, and I think we knew it. There was too little time for us to properly care for each other, and I could only hope that would change after the war was finally done. 

My fingers may not have ever known delicate lock picks or the hilt of a sword, but they’d become competently strong since the disastrous Conclave. Instead of casting spells or battling, this time they sought out the most tightly strung places in his back. Moving deftly over his scars, I gently dug the heels of my hands beneath his shoulder blades, wishing I could push out the nightmares as easily as make his body gradually loosen. He’d wanted to be away from the lyrium and the ravages it had on his body, but there was a price. I would have thought that taking it would have made dreams worse instead of better. How could it restore my connection to the Fade, revitalizing my magical connection, but sever his? Perhaps it was in the way it was prepared, but we hadn’t had time to idly wonder about it, yet. I only hoped the night terrors would eventually release him rather than get progressively worse. Cole tried to explain to me what lyrium did, and I thought about asking him about it again. I might be able to understand him better that he’d been getting practice being around us. The spirit’s ability to mesh with our world was strengthening with time and exposure to the handful of people who weren’t afraid of him. It might be another step to helping Cullen, and for all his oddities, Cole always wanted to help.

Inch by inch, I imagined myself rubbing out every horror in Cullen’s past before I’d met him, the terrible things we’d seen since, and worries for the future. His shoulders eased into the bed, and I murmured the quiet rise and fall of the Chant of Light. I didn’t believe that I was a direct agent of the Maker, but I was an Andrastian. With all his templar training and faith which I knew Cullen still had, I hoped the familiar stanzas would be a balm to his soul. One relaxed spot on his back at a time made his breath flow in and out more easily. Persistently, I wound down to his hips then began back up to the base of his neck, occasionally pausing between a verse to lean over and quietly utter a heartfelt term of endearment. Relaxation didn’t come easily to him in the best of times, but finally the deep, steady rhythm of his breathing told me he’d fallen back to sleep. Irrationally lonely, I pulled the coverlet over us and found a comfortable place. I put my arms around him from the back and held him close for awhile. It made the stray feeling flee, but did nothing for an empty stomach which decided it wasn’t going to be ignored any more.

I closed my eyes and staunchly tried to shut the hollowness in my belly with a promise I’d break the fast soon. That made it worse. I kept picturing the smell of fresh bread, and wondering what would be served in the morning. By the time the last candle guttered out, I gave up. I was feeling almost normal, but I knew my own body well enough that whatever a healer might tell me, I needed food.

Sliding carefully off my side of the bed, I pulled on a pair of my cotton pants which usually went under armor and boots. Freezing every time I made the slightest sound to make sure I hadn’t disturbed Cullen, I skulked down the stairs without taking a candle. My footing was sure and familiar, almost as if guided by an unseen hand. Skyhold was a mystery none of us had time to completely explore, but there was something odd about it. It had been lost and vacant for centuries, crying out for repair. Who had built it, why, and how it came to be abandoned were all unanswered questions. Even more curious was the feeling Dorian, Solas and I got from it. We felt welcomed, as if we had found home. I almost imagined the walls themselves sighed or tried to sing when I listened closely. The flights of fancy were preposterous, but I wondered if something about Skyhold was almost alive. It was probably the thin veil, or considering my luck, the anchor. I wondered if I could use it in place of a candle to see my way downstairs? I’d better not try it. The Maker and his sense of humor might have opened a new rift over our bed. He’d dump some well meaning spirit of fluff and mercy which looked like a wooly dumpling on top of Cullen, and it would begin hugging everyone randomly. People had enough trouble with Cole. That would really complicate our lives. 

Relying on memory, I padded into the kitchens, taking in a deep breath of whatever they’d left on the coals from last night’s meal. Ram. It had to be the dregs of the roasted ram, and someone had beat me to it. They were sitting on a bench near the fire with a tankard at one side and bowl in front of them. I hoped it wasn’t one of the healers or surgeons who would scold me enough to raise the roof for being out of bed. Wait, who was the Inquisitor around here? Me. I was in charge. I’d just have to tell them that the ram roast was all mine. I’d plant a tiny version of the infamous Inquisition banner in it if I had to. I snatched the end of a bread loaf and brandished it at my interloper with all the menace of a hungry woman draped in an oversized shirt. “Tha– oh.” I closed my mouth with a click of teeth. “I didn’t expect you to be up so late.”

“I could say the same of you.” Blackwall studied me with eyes made dark by the fire. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“Probably.” I smiled ruefully and let my menacing bread weapon make its way to a bowl. “I’m half starved and the healers wouldn’t send anything up which was stronger than soup. I’ll go back up as soon as I’ve had something. What about you? I didn’t expect anyone else to be awake at this hour. We won’t take field tomorrow, but I plan on leaving the day after.”

“It’s not uncommon for Wardens to get hungry at unusual hours.” He didn’t argue with the assessment of our healers and moved aside to let me pour some of the gravy over my now retired loaf of doom. I much preferred it as food anyway.

“I noticed some of them seem to eat a lot.” I didn’t expect Blackwall to elaborate on his Order and shrugged. “Oh Maker, that tastes so good.” Blackwall was always good company, but he never talked to hear the sound of his own voice. Most of my questions ended in short answers which were never exactly evasive, but likewise not especially open. I stopped trying to pry after a while, and assumed he wasn’t like Bull or Varric who thrived at the center of attention. Most of my conversations with Blackwall centered around battle techniques or solid, simple advice. Yet, it was always good, and I liked the way he thought. 

I looked down at the shirt I was wearing, abruptly realizing how I was dressed. “It’s Cullen’s,” I told him after I’d gulped down some vegetables and hunted for a little bit of watered wine to wash them down. “I know. Nobody is supposed to know about us and it’s all a big, dark, secret. Naturally that means everyone knew something was happening a fortnight later or less. It isn’t as if I’m not taking precautions against getting with child. That would be a disaster in the middle of a war.” He blinked at me and gave me an odd look. “Sorry. That was probably a little more than you wanted to know.”

Nodding slowly, he agreed wryly, “Safe to say. At least you’re being practical about it.”

That was me and diplomacy at my best. It should be obvious why I need Josephine and Vivienne to muzzle me at major social functions. I stood in front of the fire, devouring more food in the silence for a few minutes. Blackwall knew it wouldn’t last. He was around me too much to know I wouldn’t keep quiet indefinitely, but I shifted to something more important than whose bed I warmed. “You saved me out in the Western Approach. I didn’t know what had stung me or what to do about it. Nobody did,” I paused with a tiny smile as I contemplated my half eaten meal, “except you. You kept me alive until I was back here at Skyhold.”

He moved over as I sat back on the end of the short bench opposite him. “It’s nothing you wouldn’t have done for any of us.” 

That was true. I cared about people, and Skyhold’s denizens had become my family. “I would have, but you still saved my life. I just wanted to say thank you. You’ve been my friend and keeping bad things from happening to you from the day I met you.”

“Oh?” he prompted, finishing his tankard.

“Don’t you remember?” Evidently he didn’t, but I wasn’t likely to forget. “You blocked an arrow aimed at my head by bandits. I don’t think you so much as flinched as you were asking me how I knew who you were, then ‘thock.’ You held up your shield and kept me from having the pointy end of an arrow stuck in my skull.” I didn’t want a sharp memory quite like that. 

“‘Thock?’” he repeated with an upraised eyebrow.

“‘Thock.’” I nodded firmly as if it made perfect sense, then slouched with a fond smile. Aside from Cullen, I considered Blackwall and Cassandra my closest friends and allies. Moving over, I impulsively put my arms around him and hugged him. I was in that kind of mood. Some people collected books, and some collected paintings. Others collected jewelry or little glass trinkets of blown glass. I liked to think I collected hugs, and don’t let the giant horns or big weapons fool you. Bull was as big of a hugger as he was a warrior. 

Blackwall, on the other hand, stiffened like he had just panicked. I couldn’t help myself and giggled. “Thank you,” I told him simply and gave him a happy nudge in the shoulder with mine. “For everything you do and being there for me when I need you. You’re a good friend.”

He stared at me for several heartbeats, almost scowling, but it was a pensive expression rather than angry. “You’re welcome,” he finally conceded in a subdued tone.

“I need to get back upstairs before I’m missed. Tell Coffee I’ll come and see him tomorrow.” Deep down I knew the animal probably didn’t understand a word of what we said, but I missed my horse. I’d stop by with an apple or lump of sugar for awhile tomorrow as an apology for being away four days. “Good night, Blackwall.”

“Good night,” he answered. For some reason he sounded almost troubled, but I supposed all it meant was that he wasn’t much of a hugger. 

Cullen stirred slightly in his sleep when I shed my extra clothes and slid back into bed. I pressed up against his back and caressed a hand across his temple until his sleep deepened. With a satisfied stomach, I was able to drift off with him. 

The birds had just begun to stir with their dulcet tones of iron filings dragged across rough slate when I woke again. They were useful messengers, but they were never going to get accused of brilliant serenades. I pulled a pillow over my head, and the air had the damp, predawn nip in it. “Ung,” I grumbled at the avian cacophony, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. Rolling over to my side, I wasn’t surprised to find Cullen already awake. “Morning,” I whispered, sounding as if I was afraid to break some code of sanctuary in a Chantry full of sisters who stubbed their toes and started screaming at each other like wounded wyverns.

“Good morning.” He crooked an arm and slid it under his pillow to elevate himself a little, and we were close enough that I could see his thickening stubble in the purple morning gloom struggling through the windows. “Thank you,” he stroked my face with his open hand, brushing aside some of my hair, “for what you did last night.” 

“Always.” I nuzzled against his hand then dipped my face to the preferred spot in the crook of his neck. “I only wish I could do more.” I draped one of my legs across the outside of his thigh to get closer to him. “I’ll take the day to talk with my advisors and tend to Skyhold.” He smelled so good. Cole often mentioned the hurting or dying going back to familiar scents, and I knew for me it would be leather oils, dry fur, faint sweat, wood smoke and Cullen. This was where my heart would always be, even if my body could not remain with him all the time. “Early tomorrow morning I’ll be off again. You’ll have drills in a few hours?” His nod wasn’t really needed with the way he adhered to scheduling whenever he could. “I missed you these past few weeks – dragons notwithstanding.” So did he, by the reaction I was getting where our hips were touching. Cullen was an early riser, so to speak. 

His damp lips found mine in a tender union, making the breath in the back of my throat catch with a soft sound of pleasure the way it always did. I could taste a trace of gravy from the night before it blended with the kiss, and it didn’t take long before sparks began to stoke. Cupping his curled fingers under my chin, he held my eyes with his. “Are you sure?”

Grinning with my bottom lip between my teeth, I gave him a pointed shove in the shoulder to get him rolled onto his back. Sitting astride his hips, I resumed kissing him with a fervor which would have made the words on Cassandra’s favorite edition of Swords and Shields drip off the page. “I’m sure,” I breathed against him. “I feel fine.” Except for the frustration starting a slow burn between my legs, I felt normal enough. That was all he needed for confirmation.

Our lips parted and my tongue explored his mouth, making our kiss escalate. I’d missed him for comfort, support, and love. I’d also missed him in more immediate, carnal ways which I desperately wanted to slake. I spent a few moments kissing beneath his chin, teeth softly grazing across rough stubble as I undulated my hips against him. His hands were buried in my hair, guiding my mouth back to his, and I greedily met him again. Although I couldn’t see much in the darkness, I could feel the smile against the delicate skin of my throat. I moaned softly as he worked his way to my collarbone, and broad hands slid down my shoulders. The whispers of affection mingled with my name had a tantalizingly erotic effect on me. My breasts tightened pleasantly beneath the shirt I’d taken from him, and I pushed myself up on the heels of my hands. Forcing myself away from the contact tore another small cry of frustration out of my throat.

He was little more than a light blur against bedding in the lack of light, but I’d been with him often enough to know his body. Using my mouth, I meandered down the breadth of his chest, stopping to twirl the very tip of my tongue in the lightest touch around his nipple. I circled it until it lifted, and felt his breath catch in a groan. With a dainty kiss placed on it, I breathed warm air, stirring the hair of his chest.

Before he had time to lose the sensation, I began on the other side, and my hand purposefully dipped between us. I think he knew what I was about to do because there was an audible rumble in his chest as his anticipation grew. We’d done numerous explorations once we began to get more comfortable with each other, testing new pleasures and returning to familiar ones. This time, I added a little more playfulness, and tugged the string to his pants with my teeth to unlace them. I couldn’t see his expression clearly, but I could feel him watching me with acute anticipation. I wouldn’t have disappointed him for a vault full of gold, and grinned as I grabbed the hem of his pants; also with my teeth. Lifting his hips up from the bed, he gave me better access to pull them down to his thick thighs. I loved being able to sit astride them when he was inside of me, feeling the power of his body. It would be easy to venture there, instigating a union immediately, but I was going to make the most of what precious moments we had. 

He was hard and ready beneath the thin barrier of his small clothes, and I positioned myself between his legs. Kissing the outline of his arousal through cloth, I went from bottom to top with slow, deliberate attention, then undid the laces on his hips. Completely bared to me, I repeated everything without a barrier, touching my lips against the hot, tight skin. After a few seconds, I introduced light flicks of my tongue, shamelessly exploring every exposed inch. 

The act wasn’t completely selfless, and as I engulfed him into my mouth to gently suck, a hot throb began to develop between my thighs. His occasional, involuntary sounds of pleasure sent delighted chills trickling down my spine. They didn’t stop until they got to that same, hot, wet place where my body screamed to unite with him. I wanted him like a fire needed fuel to burn, the more I pleasured him, the more my own arousal built. “Cullen.” The whisper was husky with lust, but I took him into my mouth again. My lips closed and I moved up and down in rapid motions as my cheeks hollowed. Maker’s sweet mercy I wanted him, and every sound coming deep from his belly made me hungrier.

Finally releasing him when he called out to me in a soft warning, I laid the length of my body flush against his. With my hands, I pinned his wrists to the mattress, nuzzling his neck and tugging on his earlobe with careful teeth. “If you want your shirt back, Commander,” I whispered provocatively into his ear. “You’re going to have to take it.”

So much of his life was spent serious and in control and that I think he’s mostly forgotten how to play for the sheer joy of it. Our time in the bedroom was, I hoped, helping him remember. I’d deliberately thrown down a gauntlet, and my beloved had trouble resisting a challenge; particularly when he knew I was baiting him for our mutual pleasure. 

Locking his fingers into mine, he tightened his grip and rolled me over. Predawn was spilling better light from the balcony and I could see the loving heat in his gaze as he poised over me. “Is that so?” he demanded with arousal mixed with the same gloating joy I’d heard when he had someone cornered in a strategy game. “Because I think I have you precisely where I want you.”

“Oh really?” I taunted, squirming deliberately against his hips in a provocative back and forth sway. “Just what are you going to do with me now that you have me, Commander?”

“This.” He unbuttoned the shirt and exploratory hands found my breasts as his mouth descended to mine again. The pitch of our kissing was wildfire, and I writhed appreciatively when his thumb caressed my nipple into a tight nub. The first time we’d been together had started out in an odd moment of spontaneity. Considering how much my heart liked neatness and order, it had been an odd endearment when he flung everything aside from the top of the desk. This was the same man who, when Josephine had voiced an opinion about the chill in Skyhold, had been more concerned with papers blowing about. When he was passionately taken by the moment, focused on me alone, I knew. In his eyes, I was everything. He was willing to let some of his control go when he we were together, and I was just as willing to give it back to him as a gift. 

The first time had been full of giggling from me, warm chuckles from him, taking brief breaks because a limb was in the way, and lightly bumped noses. It hadn’t taken him long to methodically find all the right places by the time we’d abandoned the desk in favor for his bed. The Maker had been kind that day, because he’d thought to lock the door before we climbed the ladder. Ever since that first kiss, we hadn’t taken for granted that someone wouldn’t come looking for the Commander or Inquisitor. We’d gone for an entire night without interruption; all eager mouths, excited bodies, hot needs, and graceless euphoria.

Like everything else, intimacy took practice. Unlike most everything else, we were extremely enthusiastic about honing our expertise. 

I clutched at the small of his back as his lips wound down my throat, seeking out the particular place underneath my earlobe which made me arch up into him. My belly tightened as tingles wound their way down to more heady, aching parts. When his fingers found my wetness, slipping inside of me, I spilled a helpless moan into his mouth. His thumb rubbed a circle around my clit, throwing me into quiet, needy whimpers in a matter of seconds. “Cullen,” I breathed as his teeth gently drew across my lower lip. “I need you.” To emphasize, I grabbed his well sculpted rear with both hands. 

I loved bearing his weight while he was inside of me, and tucked my legs up toward my chest so he could push deeper. With one motion he was filling me, tight against my walls, moving his hips in slow, delicious strokes. I twined my fingers into his hair, down his back, over his chest, and anywhere I could touch. Our hunger hit a peak of insatiability, and he roamed just as freely over my quivering skin. Fiery need turned his thrusts more urgent and deeper as his breathing rushed harder. The quiet cries from his throat were some of the most erotic things I’d ever heard; his setting aside order for euphoric chaos. It was the most precious and exciting thing he could ever give me, and as his pace quickened I climaxed in a pounding rush. My hips raised up to meet his as he continued to his own peak, finally bucking his deepest to expel his orgasm into me. 

For a long moment, I wrapped my legs around his waist and we lay together, trembling and letting our breath catch up. My eyes closed and I lost myself to the smell and sensations, whispering words of endearment.

The outside of his fingers brushed against my cheek. We were silent for awhile and he lay on his back so I could put my head on his shoulder. It was my favorite place after we’d made love, and I traced meaningless patterns across his chest with my fingertips. Unfortunately, even the most pleasant moments couldn’t linger on forever. Cullen’s drills and duties would call, and I had my own responsibilities. “I need to dress and start the day,” I told him reluctantly as I outlined his lips with my thumb. “I’ll try and stop by if I can.”

“To work?” he asked in familiar words which were far warmer than across the war table.

“To work,” I agreed with a long sigh, and stole one last kiss.


End file.
